Wario's Guide to Getting By in the New World
by Minman083
Summary: From blue collar work to white collar crime, Wario does what is needed in his ongoing quest to make more money.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Located less than a block away from the Las Vegas Strip, All-Day Gas and Grub was ceaselessly packed with a mix of locals and tourists from every corner of the map. The staggeringly huge filling station resembled a busy airport tarmac down to the brightly-dressed individuals guiding the often-oversized vehicles through the property without trucking over pedestrians who believed that they were entitled to whatever ground that their feet happened to be on at the moment. Waiting among a large swath of humanity for the signal to cross the lot was a stout man wearing a yellow shirt under a purple apron on which the station's logo was emblazoned. After a particularly painful wait for a semi-truck to pass through, the group was given the go-ahead to cross by a station employee who appeared to be melting in the desert heat.

"What's good, my man?" asked the crossing guard to his co-worker while trying to stop the cascade of sweat from flooding his eyes.

"Another day in paradise," responded the bulky man in yellow after he crossed the lot.

"Quick note, we're out of bagged ice," said the crossing guard as he held a smaller group on the distant curb.

"It isn't even 11 in the morning," grunted the man in yellow. His vaguely Italian accent slipped out in the midst of his annoyance.

"I know, right? Shipment is late as all hell."

"I'll deal with it,"

"Nothing much else you can do. Catch you on the flipside, man."

The man in yellow nodded before leaving the crossing guard to his work.

Sporting ten aisles of goods and a lesser-known fast food restaurant, the All-Day Gas and Gulp Convenience Center offered so much at such a decent price that most in the area used it over the nearby grocery store.

"You work here?" rudely asked a guest as the man in yellow was in the process of clocking in.

"Yes."

"You guys got Captain Lights 2000?" asked the customer, hands suspiciously in his pockets.

"Adult videos are in the back, behind the curtain," said the man in yellow.

"They're cigs, man! You work here or not?" spat the customer.

The man in yellow turned around and casually looked at the cartons of cigarettes on sale. Right when he was about to give up, he ran right into the lime green box of Captain Lights.

"Are those the 2000s?" asked the customer.

"it's all we have."

"I'll take it," said the customer, who pulled his right hand out of his pocket to reveal a small stack of dollar bills. "What's your name, man?"

The man in yellow wanted to be a smartass and point to his name tag, but he quickly noticed that he had forgotten to put it on.

"W."

"I've been in the same position as you, W. Got these idiots coming in asking stupid questions and it never seems to end. As much as you want to cuss those people out, don't. You never know which one wants an excuse to put their time at the range to the test. Later," said the customer, halfway through the process of unwrapping the carton before exiting the building.

The day went on without any other subtle threats on W's life, though the anger over the lack of bagged ice was palpable. As the hostility grew, an older gentleman seated at the slot machine by the entrance was having the time of his life as coins loudly fell into the hopper at a rate to make the entire store envious.

"That's what I like to hear, baby. Empty those pockets!" shouted the old man as everyone around him rolled their eyes.

The slot machine didn't stop spitting out coins until over a half-hour later, which saw the old gambler stand up and walk towards the counter with a large bucket of coins filled to the brim.

"Hey, big man," said the happy winner to W.

"Hell of a haul you've got there," said W, though he was quite unimpressed with the pile of quarters.

"Yup, and I've come to spread the wealth."

W's interest in the money changed significantly. "Hey, if you're offering, then I'll gladly accept."

"Alright, then. Gimme _two_ of those dollar hot dogs."

It took all of W's strength to not roll his eyes. "You want chili or cheese with that?"

"It wouldn't be a dollar dog if you add 75 cents to it."

W grabbed a pair of plain hog dogs and handed them over to the cheapskate in front of him. Much to W's pleasure, the old gambler returned to the slot machine, lost a chunk of his coins and left bitter.

At 5:30pm, W clocked out and started the 10-minute walk from the gas station to La Casita, the motel in which he lived. La Casita consisted of 12 rooms split between 2 floors and seemed to cater exclusively to locals looking for long term, no frills housing on the cheap. Instead of going straight to his room, W entered the main office to talk to Carlos, the motel's landlord.

"How're the girls treating you?" asked Carlos in his heavy Mexican accent.

"Terribly. Thought you were going to do something about that," responded W.

"Blame the establishment on that one. She wants no part of the States. For now, at least," said Carlos.

"Don't blame her," said W without much disappointment. "Got a completely unrelated topic that I want to speak on."

"Go ahead."

"How many people you got in the room above me?"

Carlos sighed. "About nine."

"How much money got dropped on your doorstep to go along with that?" asked W, knowing that Carlos frowned upon such massive groups in a single room.

"Literally a chest of gold coins," replied Carlos.

"Who isn't hitting it big on the slots this week?" asked W, somewhat annoyed.

Carlos shook his head. "The coins aren't from here."

"Then how do you know that they are real?" challenged W.

"I've been around the block long enough to know," fired back Carlos.

"Anyway, I don't like flapping my gums about anyone, but that group makes a hell of a lot of noise. I'm talking tractor pull levels."

"They'll be gone by tomorrow," said Carlos with a wave of the hand.

"You aren't doing anything about them today?" W wasn't exactly happy with the response.

"Have you seen them?"

"No."

"I think they're part of a cult or something. They're all in these expensive costumes that make them look like overgrown turtles."

"Turtles?" scoffed W. "Maybe if I buy them some pizza, then I'll actually get some sleep tonight."

Carlos shrugged, not understanding the reference at all.

Without any other words, W left the office and went to the second floor of the motel to confront at least one of his many new temporary neighbors. The moment he exited the stairway, W spotted what appeared to be a large child wearing pink shades that added the finishing touch to an elaborate costume that mirrored Carlos' description. The burly child, who was leaning on the balcony's rail, flashed an expression of minor panic upon seeing W.

"For a minute there, I thought you were someone that I had a whole lot of problems with in the past," said the strange being in clear, unaffected English.

"No, I'm just a man with a noise complaint," responded W, trying to make sense of what was talking to him. "What's your name, pal?"

"My name's Roy. I've got a heavy step, but I know for a fact that it didn't bring you up here. My youngest brother Junior, on the other hand, drives his kart down the halls as if we need more attention on ourselves."

"Ah, okay. I'm known as W, and that's one hell of a costume you have on."

Roy smiled. "It isn't a costume, man. There's no way to explain the situation without making it look like I hit the pipe too many times this morning."

"Where do you come from?" asked W, genuinely curious.

"I was told to say that I come from _a barely habited island in southern Japan_. There isn't anyone here to call me out on it, so I'll just admit that we come from a place called Dark Land that doesn't exist on Earth."

"I wish that was the strangest thing that I've heard this week," replied W, who in no way believed that Roy came from another planet.

"That's why we spend summers here," said Roy. "People just roll with things. It's great."

"I'm going to get ready for work. Not sure when your family is coming back, but tell them to keep it down," said W.

"Gotcha," replied Roy.

A number of hours after his chance encounter with utter nonsensicality, W changed clothes and hopped a taxi to Club Modern Epic, a swanky establishment at which he was the sole bouncer. Every night, regardless of how little tourists were in town, W had to deal with drunkards, idiots, creeps, and psychopaths, and they all wanted to fight. When he wasn't prying his fist out of faces, W had to made sure that those who entered the club were of the ludicrously high standards dictated by the ugly slob that owned the place. If W didn't make so much money from standing outside the club's door, then he would have left long ago.

"Excuse me, miss. I'm going to have to see your ID," said W as a particularly young-looking girl approached the entrance.

The girl, in layers of makeup and clothing that was far too short, brazenly handed W her high school identification card.

"Brownie points for honesty," said W with a chuckle. "It isn't getting you in here, though."

"Just let me in. You know you want to," said the girl after quite the dramatic eye roll.

"Not happening, kid. Go home," stated W with authority.

The girl took a step back, swiped her hand across her mouth and awkwardly lurched towards W with an outstretched right hand. After a smooth, sharp series of movements from the bouncer, a razor was ejected out of the girl's hand before the back of her head bounced off of the concrete. Not knowing how close W was to serious injury, a tall man rushed the entrance from the back of the line and started throwing haymakers at his face. After taking a few mighty blows, W unleashed an explosive punch of his own that knocked the assaulter unconscious and left the guy's face in a state that required extensive surgery.

"Damn it all to hell! No one is getting in!" shouted W, nearly blinded by all the pain and rage he was experiencing.

"I came all the way from Miami to get in here and see DJ Classy!" said an individual deep in line.

"I was nearly killed twice in the last two minutes!" bellowed W. "Let me get myself together, and maybe then you can see your precious DJ Classy!"

After far too long, the club door swung open and the scene was graced by the presence of Max Hayden, the owner of Club Modern Epic. He looked at the carnage on the floor and shook his head.

"That's one wicked ass razor," said Max. 'Which one had it?"

"The girl," said W.

"You get sliced?"

"Nope, but the other guy got some good punches in on me,"

Max laughed. "Not good enough. Look, I'm going to take over for a while and have you chill in the back. Don't get too comfortable, as you know how chatty the authorities get."

After yet another chat with the police and a thankfully uneventful remainder of his shift, W rode a taxi back home and took a long, hot shower. Surprisingly, there was no noise from the scaly characters upstairs. Eventually, W sat in front of the television and watched a few minutes of an old movie before muting it to pay attention to some commotion by his door.

"This the guy's room?" said a booming voice that wasn't even somewhat muffled by the walls.

"Yeah," said a voice that W remembered as Roy's.

There was a thunderous pounding at the door that shook W out of his sofa. He approached the entrance of the room and stopped himself from turning the handle.

"Who is it?" asked W.

"It's me," replied Roy.

W opened the door and gasped loudly not at Roy, but the eight-foot tall costumed behemoth beside him.

"Sup?" asked Roy. "Told pops about what happened this morning and he wanted to check you out."

W had no clue how to respond.

"I don't come from these parts, but I've got eyes all around," said the massive individual. "You put on a clinic at the club. It was beautiful."

"I wouldn't call it that," said W, craning his neck to look into the tall creature's eyes. "I sent a girl to the hospital."

"Your people have a saying: _play stupid games, win stupid prizes_. She deserved every stich on the back of her head."

"My people?" asked W. "I don't know if what you guys are doing is a hobby or what, but you sure as hell are dedicated to it."

The large fellow smiled briefly. "Let me give you the rundown. I'm Bowser, king of the indigenous creatures of what is known as the Mushroom World. Earth and the Mushroom World share many unexplained, inconsistent connections that have brought tens of thousands of humans to my world. The one stable connection was crafted by my trusty mage after years of research, and it takes us from Dark Land to wherever on Earth we want to be. This is our fourth time in Las Vegas. Our second time not fully under a magical mask."

"Sounds interesting," said W, still not believing any of it.

"It is," responded Bowser. "Want to go back with us?"

W nervously laughed. Even Roy seemed taken aback by the proposition.

"I'm serious," said Bowser. "Plenty of use for an ox like you in Dark Land."

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll stick to what I've been doing. I don't love it, but it's been working," said W, scratching the back of his neck.

Bowser nodded and handed W a large, folded card.

"If you want to take me up on my offer, then follow the directions on this card. There's a lot more to this universe than Las Vegas, let me tell you."

"I'll be on a one-way trip to Dark Land the second things start going south here," lied W.

"That's what I want to hear," said a pleased Bowser.

After some parting words, W closed the door and tossed the oversized card from the oversized being into his trash can.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Thunder FM. This is Travis in the AM broadcasting your love and well wishes for DJ Classy, who's hanging by the most delicate of threads right now. Joey Masterpiece from the rotten apple, you were down with Classy for a hot minute, right?"

"Yeah, man. Classy, Rich Boy Link and I were part of a set called _Masterclass._ Didn't make it national, but we set the underground on fire here in the east."

"What can you tell us about Classy that the average listener wouldn't know?"

" _Classy_ wasn't just a name that the man randomly gave to himself one day. It's a lifestyle. From the top of the chain to the bottom of the barrel, he treated everyone with the utmost respect. It would be a damn shame if the world lost a man like him. Stay strong, Classy. Pull through!"

 **Seven Hours Prior**

In a rare example of being proactive about a situation, Max met W at the door of Club Modern Epic and pulled him inside for a talk.

"Page B-3 of the Review, W. Have you seen it?"

"I didn't pick up the paper today," responded W.

"You're in it," said Max.

"How? Did they interview me in my sleep?" asked W, heaping on the sarcasm.

"Your thrilling example of self-defense twisted a few panties and they took it to the press."

"Now every part-time boxer in the city is going to line up with the intention of throwing down with me," said W, shaking his head. " _Great._ "

"It's okay, though. For the next week or so, you're going to be put on booty duty for DJ Classy."

W was surprised. "Isn't that your gig? Well, outside of running the place."

"Yup, and it's all yours until things die down. That said, I need you to do me a big favor," said Max, lowering his voice and getting even closer to W.

"What's that?" asked W.

"Classy has been hitting the hot stuff more frequently than usual, and it's starting to affect his judgment. I don't want you to hover over him, but I do want you to make sure he doesn't become a liability to us or himself," said Max.

"Shouldn't be too hard," responded W.

"There are lots of enablers around. I'm talking lower members of staff. Be sharp and don't be afraid to use your radio. I'm here if things get out of hand."

As W walked out on a vacant dance floor, DJ Spin, who had been in the finishing stages of his soundcheck, looked up from his turntables and waved.

"It's about damn time Max pulled you off the front lines," said the perpetually excited DJ Spin into his microphone.

"I was spilling so much blood that the doorway looked like the aftermath of a cage fight," said W after walking over to the DJ booth.

"To your credit, I never see any problems with the people you let in," said Spin as he adjusted a few knobs on his mixer. "My only issue is that the girls are starting to look like they all came off of an assembly line."

"That's all Max," said W. "Hey, I've got a question about our headliner."

"Classy?" asked Spin.

"Yeah. I heard he has been acting funky," said W

"I'm no fan of the guy, but I'm not going to lie and say that he's been mixing like warmed over dirt just to satisfy my desire for longer sets."

"So, there isn't any real reason to be concerned? Drugs, maybe?"

Spin laughed. "Who here isn't on a little bit of something?"

W left the DJ booth and hovered around the club until it officially opened. It took a while, but the vacant dance floor and empty seats were eventually filled with young individuals who wanted nothing more than to party as hard as possible. After getting a good look at the revelers on display, W decided that it was finally time to go on the aforementioned "booty duty." In other words, proposition young, hopefully single women on behalf of DJ Classy, who rarely left his palatial room in the club's basement. W approached what appeared to be a trio of sorority sisters that seemed to judge him harshly before he opened his mouth.

"Welcome to Club Modern Epic," greeted W with the fakest smile in the world. "I'm with management. Is there anything I can do to make tonight your best night in Vegas?"

"Maybe speed up time so that I don't have to listen to any more of DJ Boring up there," said the tallest of the three.

"Ah, so you're here for DJ Classy?"

The three were so excited by the mere mentioned of the man's name that W knew what he had to do next.

"So, I have some bad news and some incredibly good news for you girls," said W, face hurting from maintaining the false smile for so long. "The bad news is that DJ Spin still has a few hours left in his set, and he isn't leaving early for all the money in this town. Trust me, we've tried! The good news is that DJ Classy is waiting in his room as we speak for girls like you to hang out with before he takes the stage. The question is, do you want to take him up on his offer?"

W could only laugh to himself after getting hit with a wave of rejection. A few parting words later, W left the trio and continued on with his duties. Right as W was going to openly complain about how ludicrous it was to offer young flesh to an overrated DJ as if he were some kind of hostile god, W was approached by a short, thick woman with her hair in long braids.

"I heard that DJ Classy is doing a meet and greet," said the lady.

W liked what he saw, but was trying hard not to leer. "I wouldn't call it that,"

"That seems exactly what it is. I've been paying attention," said the lady.

"Maybe you should pay more attention to DJ Spin. He's putting on a good set."

"I'm here for Classy. I've come a long, long way to see him."

W sighed. "Okay, what's your name?"

"Wendy," she said before pulling a candy cane out of her purse and biting down hard on it.

"As in square patties and biggie fries?" asked, W, trying and failing to be humorous.

"Not sure what that is," said Wendy, uninterested in W's jokes.

W was slightly disappointed. "Anyway, we're going to be taking the service elevator over there. Afterwards, it's just a few steps until we hit Classy's room."

"Good."

W led Wendy to a large elevator in the corner of the club. They descended a floor and walked out into the dank, smoky, dimly lit basement.

"I'm assuming that the room is down this hall?" asked Wendy's completely unfazed by the state of the basement.

"Yeah," responded W, feeling antsy about the situation. "You sure you want to go along with this?"

"I can't wait," responded Wendy, licking her lips.

The two reached a shabby door with the word "Classy" written on a plank of wood that had been nailed below the peephole.

"Hey Classy, it's BD. Have fun," said W after giving the door a pounding.

The door was quickly opened by DJ Classy, who was tall, muscular and tanned to the point that his skin was a dark shade of orange. He looked at Wendy and nodded approvingly.

"This is some prime quality beef you got here, man. They need to start using you more often," said Classy to W as Wendy smiled at the complement.

"My name is Wendy. I've been a fan since Masterclass,"

Classy's eyes widened. "You come from Brooklyn?"

"No, but I lived close enough to buy _Cup a Tea_ from Rich Boy Link's trunk," said Wendy.

"I can't lie," started Classy. "These backstage sessions usually end in me blowing a girl's back out before lighting up the dance floor. I don't want to get one of my old fans caught up in that."

"But _that's_ what I'm here for," retorted Wendy.

Classy fell silent and W could see the gears in his head grinding away. If it were up to W, the whole thing would have ended with a high-five and a signed record.

"Wendy, was it? Come right on in," said Classy with a large smile.

"That's my kind of language," said Wendy, entering the room.

Classy turned back to W. "What's DJ Spin playing tonight?"

"Sounds like disco," responded W.

"That's not disco. It's house, man," admonished Classy. "Anyway, I'm going to go talk to my leading lady here."

Classy closed the door and W started his walk out of the basement. The lights flickered for a moment, but he thought nothing of it. W then went on to spend a little over two hours nodding his head to DJ Spin's set, which was most definitely not disco. Right when W found the groove pushing him towards the dance floor, he heard the voice of Max on his walkie-talkie.

"Please tell me Classy is setting up."

"Negative, boss," responded W.

Max tossed a few expletives into the air before composing himself. "Go wake him up before he chokes on his tongue or something."

On his way to the service elevator, W ran into Wendy, still alone, and proceeded to pick her brain.

"Hi, Wendy. How was your time with Classy?" asked W, not exactly wanting an explicit answer out of the young woman.

"He talked too much," said Wendy, seemingly disinterested in the topic.

"Was he still going on about the old days when you left him?" asked W.

"Thankfully not."

"But he was okay, right?"

"I don't know if he'd say that, but I'd say so."

"And when did you leave?"

"Maybe an hour ago."

W sighed and continued on to the service elevator. He descended into the basement, navigated the hall and reached Classy's door, which was ajar. After silently hoping that all he had to deal with was a slumbering star DJ, W's heart sunk as he walked into a crime scene.

 **Seven Hours Later**

As W took a cab back home, he tried to displace what happened in the basement from his mind. Unfortunately for him, Thunder FM's late-night show, which had broadcasted out of Club Modern Epic in the past, decided it was the proper time to hold a memorial for DJ Classy, who wasn't dead, but was so broken that there was no way he was going to spin records ever again.

"Your club can't stay out the news for a night," said the cabbie in a thick accent.

"Isn't my club anymore, Sal," said W.

"What's up?" asked Sal as he focused on the rather empty road.

"The palooka that runs the place had me both look out for DJ Classy's health, as well as pieces of ass for Classy to rub up on. I left him with a girl and returned a little later to guy half-buried in what I think were candy hoops and looking like a living compound fracture. It was disgusting. The idiot boss then wasted half a damn hour yelling at me over not doing my job when Classy getting screwed over was a direct result of me doing my job. He then angrily kicked me off the property and, well, here I am," replied W.

"I hate to see a good man out of work. Maybe you should be a taxi driver,"

"I'm not out of the game yet, but you know what? That isn't a bad idea. I'll give you a ring if I decide to go down that path. Right now, I have another idea."

"What is it?" asked Sal.

"I had a set of crazy neighbors that tuned me into an opportunity out of town."

"How crazy?"

"Always in these expensive looking costumes."

"That's not crazy to me. Maybe they're mascots," said Sal.

W nodded his head, though he was sure that Sal didn't see him. "Anyway, I was told to go to a certain address if I ever needed some work."

"I guess the life of a team mascot is a way to never have to deal with the drunks at the club," responded Sal.

"They're not mascots, Sal."

"Then what are they?"

"I…don't know, but I plan on going to this address and finding out."

W pulled out the large, partially soiled card that he was given by the costumed freak that called himself Bowser. He then read off the address that was printed on It and immediately got a laugh from the cabbie.

"That's a junkyard," said Sal. "Real far out."

W winced in pain at that revelation. "Wait, really?"

"I don't think you'll leave the site of that opportunity with both kidneys. Just forget about it and start driving. Plenty of tourists. Lots of money. It'll finally get you out of that damn motel."

When W returned home, his mind remained on Bowser's proposition and whatever was supposedly waiting for him in the apparent junkyard that was Dark Land. Thoughts turned into plans of action when W exited his shower, turned on the radio, and noticed that all talk was about the sudden turn for the worst and subsequent early-morning death of superstar DJ Classy. W knew that the situation was going to get incredibly messy, so he threw on a yellow, long-sleeved shirt, went back outside and hailed a cab despite having Sal's number on him at all times.

"Where you heading?" asked the driver, surprisingly cheery at nearly four in the morning.

"Got this address here. I think it's near a scrapyard," said W before reading off what was on the card.

"There's a diner up there open 24-hours. Good place," responded the driver.

W went along with the cabbie's hunch and accepted the long, expensive ride to the diner. After a strong cup of coffee and a fun conversation about overzealous parents at a tee ball game, W left the place and walked over to the junkyard that was a block south. As it was way before business hours, the front gate was locked and tended to by a lowly security guard who looked incredibly bored until he made eye-contact with W.

"Wilfred?" asked the guard.

W shuttered at the use of his birthname. "I have no idea who that is. You have the first letter right, though."

"Well, whatever your name is, the boss has been expecting you. Said you'd probably stop by around this time."

W thought about returning home on the spot, but, with his luck _the boss_ would probably be sitting on his couch as he opened the door.

"He'll be in the office," continued the guard. "Oh, and welcome to the team."

W nodded as the gate loudly clanked open. He then entered the junkyard and approached the office after a few minutes of walking. Right as W was about to open the door, he was stopped by a somewhat familiar female voice.

"Hey."

W turned around and was surprised to see Wendy, of all people.

"The hell are you doing here?" asked W, thinking more for her safety than his own.

"Same thing you're here for," replied Wendy with a faint smile.

"I'm here because I let my curiosity get the better of me. This might be my last few minutes alive, for all I know," said W.

Wendy burst into laughter. W swore he saw her entire body distort, but he convinced himself that it was lack of sleep finally getting to him.

"You aren't dying. Father likes you far too much for that," said Wendy.

"You're one of them too?" asked a surprised W.

"Yep."

"But you don't look like them."

With a wave of what looked like a toy magic wand that materialized in her hand, Wendy, the short, buxom, young woman whom W had a bit of a thing for, turned into a female-looking creature sporting lipstick and a bow on her head. That transformation was officially the strangest thing that had happened in front of him in his extended time in Las Vegas.

"What do you think of my natural loveliness?" asked Wendy, attempting a seductive pose.

"About what?" asked W..

"What you saw versus what you see."

W remained silent. The newly reptilian Wendy pouted.

"It's okay. I'll get the answer out of you later."

W turned away from Wendy and knocked the office door.

"Come on in!" commanded the naturally loud voice of Bowser.

W entered the office and nearly ran into the massive being, who was seated on an equally large couch.

"We meet again, ox!" exclaimed Bowser.

"You run this place?" asked W.

"I own the property. I won't get into the logistics of that. Moving on, I must offer condolences on the loss of DJ Classy. He will be missed by many," stated Bowser in a disingenuous tone. I must also apologize from the depths of my heart on the loss of your position at Club Modern Epic.

W's mouth hung open for a moment before he responded.

"There's nothing official about that," replied W.

"Trust me, ox. You returning to that place will only result in the police being called," said Bowser." To add to that, your old boss is throwing around some wild accusations about you."

"I'm not going to ask _how_ you know that, but I will ask _why?"_

"Because I'm interested in you, ox. And when I'm interested in someone, it becomes an obsession."

"Nice to know," said W, fearing for his future.

"And right now, I'm interested in getting you back to Dark Land and knocking a whole lot of birds out with one stone!"

"So, we're just going to leave right now? No packing of bags or tearful goodbyes or two-week notices for my first job?" said an incredulous W.

Bowser let the question hang for a moment. "Yes."

W was led to what looked resembled a large storage unit with an entryway that provided a good nine feet of vertical space. The two were joined by Roy, Wendy, and six other strange beings.

"This is my family of troublemakers," said Bowser, proudly. "Outside of Roy and Wendy, you have Iggy, Lemmy, Larry, Morton, Ludwig, and Junior, who was keeping you up all those nights."

"Aw! Why'd you tell!" chirped the youngest of the flock

Bowser chuckled and continued. "To be honest, ox, I've heard stories of humans getting real sick their first few days in Mushroom. You should be fine since you're built like a damn tank. Just in case you do fall ill, we have a supply of magic mushrooms to snap you right out of it. Sound good to you?"

"Sure," responded W.

Bowser opened the large door of the structure and revealed what looked like a giant, green drainage pipe.

"This is a warp pipe, ox. That stable connection between the worlds I was talking about the other day."

"So, Dark Land is in the sewer?" asked W.

"Of course not," retorted Bowser. "You won't believe it until you get there, so let's hightail it. Distinguished guests first," he said before motioning towards the gaping maw of the pipe.

Already realizing that "no" was no longer an option, W walked towards the pipe and felt himself being pulled forward by an unseen force. Before he could mount any kind of resistance, W was snatched off of his feet and fell face-first into darkness.

 **And with that, we enter the Mushroom World! Catch you later!**


	3. Chapter 3

Surprisingly, the strange forces at play that sucked W into the warp pipe gently set him down inside of a spacious building made of stone. The place was strategically lit by torches that led to a distant flight of stairs. When the gentle gurgling of the pipe fell silent, W's casual acceptance of the situation turned into minor panic. He wanted to call out for his new acquaintances, but had a not quite unfounded fear of disturbing an unseen threat. After a few minutes, W slowly followed the torches up the stairs and pushed at the door that he was led to.

W entered a narrow, well-lit hallway adorned by a few paintings of Bowser and a suit of armor that W almost mistook for a living being. He then passed through another door and encountered a spiral staircase that seemed to go on interminably. He opened yet another door, took a few steps and was rooted to the spot when he came upon a giant vat of churning lava. Above it dangled what appeared to be the weakest suspension bridge to ever be constructed. W took multiple deep breaths and hightailed it across the bridge while trying to pay little attention to the liquid death down below. He made it to the other side without issue. In fact, the bridge, almost mocking W, barely swayed. Feeling accomplished, W exited through a large red door and immediately came face to face with a burly koopa with an outstretched arm.

"Intruder halt! State your business or face severe consequences!"

"Guest of Bowser. Wilfred, from Las Vegas," replied W, nervous.

The creature softened. "Ah. You see, this is why I don't introduce myself with my fists anymore. Anyway, I protect this place for the king."

W nodded. "Where is he? I thought he was behind me in the warp."

"They're on the airship waiting for you."

W scoffed. "How was I supposed to know that?"

"You know now and that's all that matters. You might want to get out of here before they leave you, though."

"They would do that?" asked a concerned W.

"If I were in your shoes, I'd trust the king as far as I could throw him," said the creature with a smile, for whatever reason.

Walking through the final door of the fortress landed W on its expansive roof on which Bower's airship was docked. Leading into the ship was a gangplank wide enough to fit Bowser, who stood beside it reading some type of unfurled document. As W got closer, the koopa king tucked the paper away.

"Ox! You've joined us!" exclaimed Bowser.

"Wasn't expecting the extended tour of the facility," said W.

"But you made it," stated Bowser, brushing off W's annoyance.

"Yeah," grunted W.

Bowser surveyed W for a moment. "You…made it here without fighting?"

"Yup," responded W.

"Brains and brawn! Damn it, Ox, you're good. Give me a month and I'll make you perfect! Follow me."

W ascended the gangplank, stopping at the very top to look out at the horizon. He wanted to get one good look at his surroundings before whatever the hell else was going to happen, but could only see an inky void.

"What are you looking at, Ox?" asked Bowser.

"Nothing," answered W.

"That's because there's nothing to see. Come on, Ox. Time is money."

W and Bowser entered the passenger deck of the craft. Sitting about were enough comfortable chairs for a small army.

"Where are the kids?" asked W, noticing the empty seating.

"In their respective rooms," responded Bowser. "We're going up top."

The pair took a roomy elevator to the upper deck.

"You sailing this thing?" asked W to Bowser.

"Not today," responded Bowser as the ship smoothly inched off of the ground.

"I'm guessing that the sun does come out here?" asked W, trying to make sense of the nothing that the craft was rising up over.

"There is no sunlight in Dark Land, Ox," responded Bowser.

"Depressing."

"Ox, this is where my people, the koopa, were sent to die."

"The Mushroom Kingdom of the north descended upon our ancestral home. We had no reason to be combat ready due to the peace in which we lived. Those with the slightest ability to mount a reprisal were savagely murdered along with our elders. The rest, a young me included, were sent to a literal hell hole. What happened afterwards? Adaptation. We used what we were given and rose out of the ash stronger than ever. A loose gathering of tribes became a kingdom. The countless rocks became our fortresses. The deadly lava under it all became our protection and eased significantly the production of weapons. We have the ability to level the entirety of the Mushroom Kingdom twelve times over. As do they, Ox. Tensions are high and if we continue, global catastrophe is unavoidable. The only way to heal the gaping wounds of the past is to unite. The king of the koopas and the princess of the Mushroom Kingdom. Not everyone wants the sides to be at peace. There's a human out there that has been working against the peace initiative for decades. I've thrown all I could at him, but Earth-born humans have an it-factor that I can't comprehend. You'll see when you start drinking our water and eating our food. You're going to run faster, hit harder, breathe underwater and seemingly possess multiple lives," said Bowser.

"And then what am I going to do?" asked W.

"Use your newfound abilities to rid me of my complication and finally unite the kingdoms for the good of planet," responded Bowser.

"You want me to kill a man?" asked W.

"If you must."

W shook his head. "I'm not a killer."

"And I'm not telling you to kill. Ox, I'm going to put you under my wing. Afterwards, you will have all you need to get the job done however you want to do it," said Bowser.

"What do I get out of completing the job?" asked W

"A life beyond your wildest dreams."

"Can I at least get the name of the man that's going to pave the way to my supposed new life?"

"Mario Segale from Brooklyn, New York."

The hour of flight gave way to an almost longer trek through the labyrinthine halls of Bowser Castle. Just as W was going to comment on the unending walk, he was dropped off in a room atop the castle's highest tower. The room was his home throughout the month of vigorous training with Bowser. W was beaten, burned, frozen, electrocuted, impaled and nearly drowned until his grizzly death and confounding resurrection a full day later.

"Welcome back to the land of the living!" said Bowser, looking down on a bedridden W.

"Last thing I remember was holding my own head as I fell into a grinder," said W. "Guess I was tripping hard."

"That happened, Ox and it was damn messy."

"Hmm. For a person that should be shellshocked to hell right now, I feel great," said W, not overthinking his apparent death.

"This is where it starts, Ox!"

"You kicking my ass for hours on end doesn't account for anything?"

"It was all a means to an end. Get out that bed and hold on to this," said Bowser, pulling out a red and yellow flower.

W stepped out the bed feeling neither his normal aches from home nor the almost debilitating pains brought on by the training. He then grabbed the flower, which was quickly replaced by a churning ball of fire in his hand.

"Bowser, what is this?" questioned W.

"A parting gift to aid you on your mission," responded Bowser.

"And when does that start?" asked W, extinguishing the fire ball by clenching his fist.

"Tomorrow."

W thought about it for a moment. "Wait, I haven't seen anything outside the castle since I got here. Where am I supposed to go?"

"Mario Castle, right outside of Sarasaland," said Bowser.

"Mario is also a king?" asked W, taken aback.

"No, the castle was granted to him by the locals," responded W.

"Of Sara's Land?"

"Sarasaland. A kingdom of relatively nice people," responded Bowser.

"Is it in Dark Land?" asked W.

"Sarasaland is over two days away, Ox," said Bowser.

"How am I going to get there? Magical walking stick?"

"One-way teleport. I admit that it will be rough as all hell to return, but getting there will not be a problem."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"I'll have a lot more questions to throw at you by then," warned W.

"And I'll be there to answer," said Bowser.

The next morning, W was left in the chamber of Kamek, Bowser's long-time personal mage. The two had a short conversation about the effects of teleportation before Bowser entered with an illustration in his hand.

"This is your target, Ox," said Bowser, handing W the picture. It was a rather bad drawing.

"This is Mario?" asked an incredulous W.

"Well, the vitals are right. Big nose, moustache, overalls," said Bowser. "Time to get this show on the road!"

"A few more questions," started W.

"It is imperative, my good Ox, that you don't mention me at any point of any possible conversation with the general public," said Bowser, ignoring W. "You have no relation to me and, if you're captured, I'll wash my hands of you. I expect big, big things! Good bye, Ox. May Mario's blood flow liberally!"

Before W could get a final word in edgewise, his vision blurred and refocused on a tiny castle getting thrashed by torrential rain. A few seconds after the teleportation finalized, the full brunt of the storm battered W so badly that he was almost knocked over a few times on his way to an awning over the castle's significantly less than grandiose entrance. W pounded on the wooden door and got no response, which was frustrating, but not unexpected. When the awning proved that it was more of a tease than true protection, W channeled his newly acquired strength and crashed into the castle with his shoulder.

Illuminated by a soft, hidden light source, Mario Castle's interior resembled that of a small apartment. The living room consisted of a sofa and a coffee table on which sat a TV/VCR combo. Curious as to what television looked like in this strange world, W turned it on and was taken to the dramatic climax of a soap opera. The only aspect that truly stood out about what W was seeing was the actors all being what Bowser described as toads. Leaving the television on, W entered the kitchen and opened an ice chest. Inside was a mouth-watering sandwich that he helped himself to. He then returned to the television, sat down and fell asleep.

W was woken up by what sounded like a small plane buzzing about. He walked towards the mangled door and noticed that the hellish weather gave way to a beautiful afternoon. W was never a nature guy, but the setting was so very different from the dire murk of Dark Land made him want to wander around to see what was out there. W then closed his eyes, took a deep breath of the abnormally sweet-smelling air, and was driven back to reality by a stout man in a red hat just a few feet away. He looked into W's eyes and smiled.

"You from Earth, pal?" asked the fellow in a strong, east coast accent.

"Yep," said W, surprised at how affable the guy was.

"Hell yeah! I'm Mario from Brooklyn, New York," he said extending his hand. "Where do you come from?"

"I'm Wilfred. I hate the name, so I have people call me W," he said, shaking Mario's hand. "I'm from Las Vegas, Nevada.

"What's wrong with Wilfred?" asked Mario.

"I always found it corny. A little too old-fashioned," answered W.

"Well, I like it, so that's what I'm going to call you. First of all, I'd like to welcome you to Mushroom. When did you drop in from the ole City of Sin?"

"About a month ago," answered W.

"No way you survived Outer Sarasaland on your own for that long," said an incredulous Mario.

"I've only been here long enough to eat one of your sandwiches and watch your TV," said W. "I was sent here after some time in Dark Land."

Mario's demeaner changed dramatically. "One doesn't just spend some time in Dark Land, Wilfred. Tell me more."

"I had some weird neighbors back home. I thought they were a group of minor league mascots, but they ended up being Bowser and his children, or whatever."

"Stop right there," said Mario. "You had a run in with Bowser Koopa on Earth?"

"After Wendy started a chain of events that was going to have me end up in prison, Bowser extended an opportunity and I jumped on it. I was then taken to Dark Land."

Mario mulled over what was said for such a long time that W got nervous.

"Wilfred, I've lived in Mushroom for over 20 years and have been in conflict with Bowser for the entirety of it. For the last few years, our fights lost their predictability and I've been trying to figure out why. Bowser having a direct line to Earth causes everything to make sense. Let's go inside. I need the floorspace."

Upon entering the castle, Mario reached into his satchel and retrieved a wide, plastic tube. He then removed and unrolled a large, crudely drawn map onto the floor.

"This is my own personal map of Dark Land," said Mario. "This represents all the places I've been to in relation to each other. This is Bowser Castle in the far north. I assume this was the last place you saw before you were sent out here, right?"

W squinted at the map. He could barely make anything out for a full minute until it all finally clicked.

"You're right," answered W. "I flew over all of the, uh, villages below it to get to the castle."

"So, you came from the south?" asked Mario, pointing at an empty area on the bottom half of the map.

"Yes," answer W. "It took over an hour before I saw something that wasn't total darkness."

Mario, holding a pencil, drew a box in the southwest corner of the map.

"Settlement or fortress?" asked Mario.

"Fortress. Most definitely," answered W. "The airship was docked on its roof."

"Landlocked?"

"Well, there was lava under it," answered W.

"That's Dark Land as a whole, though. I'm putting money on landlocked," said Mario, adding more chicken scratch to the map. "Just to verify, the warp that you exited did not fade out after five minutes, right?"

"The, uh, air pressure stopped, but the pipe remained," said W.

"Controlled by magic. Got it. Oh boy, this changes everything," said Mario, licking his lips. "All that fun stuff out of the way, how the hell did you escape Bowser and get here, many thousands of miles away?"

"I agreed to kill you."

 **Author's Note: 2020 is the year of Wario! Be ready for much more of him! See you in a few weeks!  
**


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